


Odds and Eddies

by KomaruNaegi



Category: Paper Mario: The Origami King (Video Game), Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Rarepair, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomaruNaegi/pseuds/KomaruNaegi
Summary: The Origami Craftsman has a chance encounter as he makes his way home from the Origami Festival.Little does he know that this will be one of the most important encounters of his life.Spoilers for the ending of Paper Mario: The Origami King.
Relationships: Origami Craftsman/The Oarsman
Kudos: 7





	Odds and Eddies

The glimmering lights released into the sky had begun to fade and scatter. The town was still illuminated by streetlamps, glowsticks, and cellular flashlights alike, but it was clear that the Origami Festival was coming to a close.

Many had already left. Mario, for one, was nowhere to be seen, apparently having chosen to retire early according to his taller, greener brother. The Princess was directing scattered children back to their parents, and the Koopa King was gathering straggling minions at the town’s entrance.

Among the crowd was a green-capped toad. He was entirely alone, which made him stick out like a sore thumb, but none had seemed to notice. In small, veiny hands he held two paper figurines—one yellow, one purple. Looking over his shoulder, he confirmed there were no onlookers before skittering away towards the festival’s centerpiece: a colorful origami castle.

With an artisan gentleness, the Origami Craftsman placed the pieces in their paper thrones. He then breathed a sigh of relief.

“You make this?”

A surprised shiver shook through the Craftsman’s body as he turned to the sound, identifying a blue-spotted toad as its source. He wore a conical hat and blue haori, a tired yet curious look on his face.

“Sorry—didn’t mean to scare ya,” the unfamiliar toad continued, “I just couldn’t help but recognize that little yellow girl ya put here.”

“Oh, you must mean Olivia,” the Craftsman replied, now turning to face the stranger. “And yes—I did make this display. It’s quite odd seeing it out in the open and not in my house.”

“Mhmm,” the blue toad mused, taking in the display. He held his hands together behind his back, leaning forward to try and take it in at all angles. He stood on his tip toes and craned his neck, doing his best to maneuver around the “DO NOT TOUCH” signs that stood before it.

“I met that girl of yers once,” the observer continued, “but only really briefly. I don’t think I even caught her name. Just one of my regular fares to Shogun studios. Mario was with ‘er, and so was this Bob-omb. She called ‘im Bobby—seemed to be good friends.”

A Bob-omb? The Craftsman had never heard of such a someone before. He only knew his daughter briefly, but what he did know is that she was quite the chatterbox. If she were friends with this Bob-omb, wouldn’t she had told him back on Mushroom Island? Or, perhaps, was there a reason she chose not to?

“Thank you for telling me,” the Craftsman muttered after a moment. “I never knew that she’d had a Bob-omb friend.”

“Never told ya, huh?”

“No.”

“Hmmm...” the blue toad hummed, now tapping his foot. “Well, I ain’t no mystery solver. Kids are weird. Er, well, that’s what they say, s’not like I got any of my own, haha! I should probably be gettin’ home anyways. Didn’t mean ta make ya nervous or whatever.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright,” the Craftsman replies, “it’s not often that someone talks to me with a genuine interest in my work.”

“Well I think it’s pretty interestin’! Ain’t got a clue how it works, but it’s sure cool lookin’!”

With this, the Craftsman smiles, taking a few seconds to admire his work. He scrutinizes each fold in his mind, obsessing over the little mistakes only he can see. It must be nice, though, for this toad over here, who has no idea just how many times he had to remake the leftmost pillar, or the numerous times he ended up folding pieces only for them to end up inside-out.

“I’m the Oarsman, by the way—at least that’s what the onlookers call me,” the blue toad continues. “Farein’ people from Autumn Mountain to Shogun Studios and Sweetpaper Valley on Ol’ Eddy River. Stop on by sometime if ya feel like it, I’ll give ya a ride, free a charge.”

“I’d only feel right if I paid.”

“Quit your yamnerin!” the Oarsman insists, giving the Craftsman a light slap on the back. “I’ve already made up my mind. But now I oughta get back home. I’ll be seeing you around sometime!”

The Craftsman starts to protest, but the Oarsman begins to walk away, ignoring him.

Well, he probably wouldn’t have offered if he needed the money, right? Maybe he can let his uptight morals rest for a bit.

* * *

An uneventful week passes. Nothing changes—the Craftsman is still folding late into the night, his memory cutting in and out as tiredness takes him mid-fold.

On Sunday, he opens his fridge to three slices of bread.

Welp. Time to go to the mainland for groceries.

The words of the Oarsman replay in his head. A ride down Ol’ Eddy River, free of charge. It’s not like that’s a nine hour activity, right? He could just go on his little boat ride, get off at Shogun Studios (he hasn’t been there in at least five years), and then hail a cab back to Toad Town where he could shop. It’d be a one-time thing. A little something to spice up his mundane life.

When he gets on the Sea Captain’s boat, he’s wearing a little suede backpack.

“Howdy Craftsman!” the toad, also blue, greets him as he docks at the island’s entrance. “Toad Town again?”

“Actually, no,” the Craftsman answers, scratching his head. “Would you be able to get us to Autumn Mountain?”

“Autumn Mountain? My brother works there!” the Sea Captain chirps. “Although, you can’t exactly get there by boat. There’s a tram in Toad Town that can get you there, though!”

So that’s what that’s for.

“You said your brother works there?”

“Yep! We’re pretty similar in a lotta ways, seeing as we both got jobs out on the water, but he’s always been a little more low-key than me.”

“Does he wear a little triangle hat?”

“Yep. He invite you for a trip ‘down Ol’ Eddy River, free a charge?’”

“How did you know?”

“He does that a lot,” the Sea Captain says, readying the ship. “He’s the type a person that’ll go up to anyone he thinks is ‘interestin’ and ask them if they wanna go on one of his river tours. Most people don’t take ‘im up on his offer, but it makes him happy just listening to people talk while he paddles that canoe of his.”

For some reason, the notion that this is a commonplace occurrence stings the Craftsman a bit. It shouldn’t yet it does, knowing that he’s just a face among the crowd. Granted, that’s what he’s always been, but it still hurts.

“Hey, Craftsman, you ready to go?” You seem a little dazed here.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he answers. “To Toad Town!”

“To Toad Town!” the Sea Captain repeats.

And they’re off.

* * *

The trip from Toad Town onwards is near completely silent. There’s a toad at the tram collecting fares, and a few snifits, toads, goombas, and shy guys on the tram itself, but the Craftsman does his best to blend in. He checks his phone from time to time until the tram’s motion makes the action nauseate him, only to close his eyes and listen to snippets of conversation from the other passengers.

Even though the tram is slow, the trip is a quick one. They arrive at a little wooden deck, seated nicely between sprawling mountains and autumn leaves. The Craftsman can’t help but stand still outside the tram doors as he takes it all in, unaffected by the other guests bumping into him as they skitter about.

He should probably go find that Oarsman guy.

Stepping off from the dock, the Craftsman raises a flat hand to his head to survey the area. He quickly spots what appears to be a river and a little port. All he’s gotta do now is get over there.

“I’m glad I brought a change of clothes...” he mutters to himself. The clothes were more so for if he happened to fall into the river, but the grass stains were bound to make his current clothes dirty anyway.

He didn’t have that many outfits. All were fairly similar, and he lacked a real sense of self-style. What he most enjoyed were big floppy sweaters with sleeves he could roll up to work. In truth he delighted in the act of flapping the sleeves around when they were too long, but he wished to keep up an appearance of put-togetherness. He didn’t usually have anyone to impress, but today was different.

Out of the grass and onto the dirt, the Craftsman spotted the port a few feet away. Sure enough there was the Oarsman, dressed in the same outfit as last time, hat and all. He didn’t appear to be moving, though—instead he was perched under one of the many leafy trees in what looked to be a deep slumber.

“Hello?” the Craftsman addressed him, poking him in an attempt to rouse him from sleep.

“HUEH!” Oarsman shouts, quickly jumping to his feet and shaking his head frantically. “Oh, Origami Guy, it’s just you! Welcome to Eddy River!”

As he said this, the Oarsman pounded a fist to his chest.

“Ah, hello...” the Craftsman greeted, clearly embarrassed, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No big deal,” the Oarsman assured him. “Probably better ya woke me up. I’m a real deep sleeper.”

“Is that so...”

Getting his bearings, the Oarsman picked up a paddle.

“Shogun Studios is technically closed on Sundays, but there’s nothin’ stoppin’ us from just sittin’ outside the place,” the Oarsman explained. “Or we could just head to Sweetpaper Valley. Can’t exactly close a whole valley, ya know?”

“I see... Why bother working on Sundays, then?”

“Well... technically speakin’ it ain’t work. Er is it? I dunno. Guess you could say I’m self-employed? I really love the job. Get ta make my own schedule, take lotsa breaks... An’ for some reason people really like openin’ up when they’re on my little boat! I’ve met all kindsa people from doin’ this gig.”

In a way, the Craftsman could say the same thing. He folded Origami day in and day out. He did what he loved. Although, truth be told, it looked like the Oarsman was a lot healthier than he was. Not only was he fostering connections with people (something the Craftsman was notoriously bad at), he also probably slept at normal hours, since his job was more dependent on sunlight.

“Well? You got a preference?”

“Hmmm...” the Craftsman muses, taking another glance at the river before them. “I’d hate to make you go somewhere that isn’t even active, and Sweetpaper Valley isn’t exactly close to home.”

“You live in Toad Town?”

“No, I’d go mad,” Craftsman answers. “I live on an island out in the Great Sea. Was all by myself until the whole Olly thing happened.”

“I see,” the Oarsman replies, nodding sagely. “Are you that guy my brother’s always ferryin’ to the mainland?”

“I believe so. He mentioned you earlier.”

“Haha!” the Oarsman laughs. “Me an’ him are two peas in a pod, you could say. We don’t talk as much as we did when we were kids, but we basically ended up doin’ the same things with our lives.”

The Oarsman then uses his paddle to draw the boat to the dock, giving it a few knocks before impatiently jumping aboard.

“Wait—I haven’t even picked where I wanna go yet!”

“No worries, we ain’t goin’ anywhere!” the Oarsman affirms. “The bank ‘ere is pretty big, we can just circle round here for a bit. ‘Sides, I get all fidgety after standin’ still and talkin’ for a while.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

With that, the Craftsman hops on the boat. The Oarsman stands at the back, paddling through shallow waters. Sure enough, he does appear to be sending them in a circle.

“So! Whaddya do for a livin’, Mr. Origami Craftsman?”

The formality of the title makes him chuckle.

“Well, I guess you can tell by the name, but, I like to fold origami,” the Craftsman says, observing as the boat rocks while the Oarsman builds up momentum.

“Never woulda guessed.”

The Craftsman giggles. 

“I’m pretty obsessed with it. It definitely seems that way from an outsider’s perspective. If I’m not folding it myself, I’m writing about it, or teaching it to others. I recently published a book about some beginner origami techniques, if you’re ever interested in that sort of thing.”

“A book, huh? Might take me a while ta read. I think I think I have Lexapro.”

“You think you have what?”

“Lexypro? Ya know, brain word jumble?”

“Dyslexia?” the Craftsman asks, bewildered.

“Izzat what it’s called?”

“Yeah...” the Craftsman sighs, “I think Lexapro is an antidepressant...”

“Oh...” the Oarsman mutters. “Yer pretty smart, Craftsguy, I’ll give ya that!”

“Craftsguy...” Craftsman repeats under his breath, as to not be heard.

The Oarsman must have good hearing, because he picks up on it anyway.

“Oh, uh, sorry ‘bout that. I tend ta give people nicknames, ‘cause I ain’t too good at rememberin’ them otherwise.”

The Craftsman chuckles again. He used to know someone else who did the same thing.

“My name’s Theofold,” he says, looking at the cerulean water. He’s not sure what compels him to say his name: it’s not a thing most people care about. He’s just “the origami guy” to most, and nothing the Oarsman has done suggests that he’ll be any different to him.

“Theofold...” the Oarsman mutters slowly. It sounds silly on his tongue, slow and accented. “Like foldin’ in origami? Yer ma musta known ya well!”

The Craftsman shudders at the mention of his mother. “I-I picked the name myself, actually.”

“Oh,” Oarsman says, looking out at the ripples in the water as he creates them. “I didn’t know you could do that, heh. Learn somethin’ new everyday!”

“Ahaha...” the Craftsman replies, laughing weakly.

“If yer ma’s a sore subject for ya, I won’t bring ‘er up. Sorry if I made ya feel bad.”

The consideration calms him. That, and the blank expression that suggests he has no idea what other meaning choosing your own name could possibly have. “No, it’s alright, there’s no way you would have known.”

A minute of silence passes. They’ve made it back to the dock.

“Ya know,” Oarsman says, breaking the tension at last, “you gotta have pretty steady hands ta make all that origami, right? Well, you gotta have steady hands fer oarin’ too. Why don’t I teach ya a little somethin’? I think you’d be good at it.”

“Me?” the Craftsman asks, even though they’re the only two people out on the river. “Oh, no, I’m only really good at origami. I don’t wish to ruin your boat.”

“Oh, this?”

The Oarsman taps the boat with his oar.

“She’s a real brute, this one. She’s faced lotsa rocks head-on. There’s nothin’ you could do ta her that’s worse than what I’ve already done. Why don’tcha give it a try?”

As he says this, he holds out the oar with one hand, underhanded.

“Well, if you insist...” the Craftsman says, obliging. The two switch places, the Oarsman now seated, and the Craftsman standing at the back.

“Woo! Now push ‘er real hard to get ‘er goin!”

It soon becomes clear just how outmatched the two are in physical strength. Getting the boat to move mere inches takes the entirety of his strength, and when it finally does move, they’re headed straight for the bank’s edge.

“You gotta steer her in the right direction. Lemme help ya.”

The Oarsman jumps up, the Craftsman losing his footing momentarily as the boat rocks. The Oarsman stands behind him, and goes to grab the oar, accidentally grabbing onto the Craftsman’s hands. He quickly pulls them away, like a child that’s touched a metal spoon in a pot of boiling water.

“S-Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” the Craftsman replies, equally a stuttering mess, “actually, you better fix it, we’re about to—“

The Oarsman reflexively grabs onto his hands again, navigating them away from sudden death. The Craftsman can feel the Oarsman let out a sigh of relief as he releases the tension in his muscles. His hands are ever so slightly sweaty, but they’re warm and firm.

“Oh!” he exclaims suddenly, and a bit too loudly, “I meant ta tell ya this earlier, but my name’s Frederick! Most people just call me Eddy, bein’ stationed at Eddy River an’ all... Er, actually, do people actually call me Eddy? Most just call me sir. But you can call me Eddy if ya want, Mr. Craftsman!”

The last part of the sentence doesn’t register in the Craftsman’s head, having already tuned it out. His thoughts are much louder.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he’ll let himself fall in love again.

* * *

The next time they meet is several weeks later. It’s late in the afternoon, this time, and the setting sun gives the mountain an orange glow. The Craftsman isn’t here to see the Oarsman, actually—he’s just looking to observe the Water Vellumental Shrine for inspiration for a project when Eddy sees him while making his way back to the dock.

“Theeeeoooofoooold!” he yells, swaying his arm back and forth in a highly exaggerated wave. It makes the Craftsman snort. Figuring that a little distraction never hurt anyone, he decides to go to the docks to greet him.

The Oarsman jumps off his boat in a quick leap, posing like a gymnast as he lands. The Craftsman claps for him.

“Haha, thank you, thank you,” he says, bowing. “What’s brought you here, Craftsman?”

“Oh, just doing some research,” he says, sliding the left strap of his backpack off of his arm so he can see just what he’s rummaging through. He pulls out a spiraled notebook with a mechanical pencil clipped to the front cover.

“Research,” the Oarsman repeats. “I was never good at that sorta thing. Always had ta have my little bro help me out. You inta fishin’ or something?”

“Not particularly,” the Craftsman replies. “I do like to eat fish, and I fish pretty often on the island, but I’m not all that good at it.”

“Yer too hard on yerself,” the Oarsman says, sitting with his back against his favorite napping tree. “I’m sure you could do it.”

“You sure do have a lot of faith in someone you’ve only met twice...” the Craftsman says. “Mind if I sit next to you?”

“Not at all. Go head.”

He does so, planting himself down next to Oarsman, but still a comfortable distance away. He unclips the pencil and begins to flip through the book, stopping at a blank page. He puts the leftmost half of the book underneath so he can use it like a singular pad.

The Oarsman looks over his shoulder as he gets his bearings. “Whatcha researchin’ anyway? Sorry, I’m a real curious guy.”

“It’s fine,” the Craftsman says, “most people aren’t interested in this sort of thing, or they call me weird because of it...”

“Can’t be that weird.”

The Craftsman tilts his head, confused.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, uh, yer not a weird guy, ta me,” the Oarsman starts, “an’ we’re pretty similar, I think. You like ta keep yer hands busy by foldin’, I like ta keep my hands busy by oarin’... And most people don’t think twice about us after they’ve paid us to do some sorta service for ‘em.”

As he says this, the Craftsman stares into the hard blue lines of his notebook paper. For as silly as the accent makes him sound, and for all his word complications, the Oarsman appeared to know his place in the world quite well. It’s been a while since the Craftsman has run into someone so emotionally intelligent.

It takes the Craftsman a few seconds to respond, but the Oarsman waits for him.

“I’m researching the Vellumentals and their relationship to Things. Do you happen to know what either of those are?”

“Not a clue!” the Oarsman says jubilantly. “But I might understand if ya teach me!”

“...It’s complicated business. I tend to run my mouth a bit as well.”

“Not a problem. I think you know by now that I sure can’t shut up. So tell me, Craftsy, what on Earth is a Velvet Mental?”

This launches a long tirade about the Vellumentals, Things, and their magical properties. The Oarsman yawns during the speech, and the Craftsman stops, but the Oarsman assures him that he’s only yawning from not getting a good night’s sleep. Cautiously, he continues, hoping that Eddy is listening in earnest.

“So what yer sayin’ is... magic’s real? And theres elemental gods with magics? And big fancy objects with personalities? And you used magics ta give origami big fancy object personalities? You gots magic?”

“I guess you could say that,” Craftsman says. “I don’t think of myself as a wizard or anything, though.”

“Still!” the Oarsman says, suddenly compelled to stand up. “That’s so cool! An’ those Vellumental things sound cool too! Like, I didn’t even know what that damn buildin’ was for! But there’s a God in there? Craftsy, you gotta tell more people about this stuff! You might be a chosen one er somethin’!”

As he says this, the Oarsman squats down and holds both of Craftsman’s hands in his own. Once again, however, he quickly retreats back into himself. Perhaps physical contact is something he struggles with?

The Craftsman looks away, blushing quite a bit. Lucky for him, the Oarsman is very dense, and does not see anything odd in this behavior.

“Ahaha, thank you. It’s been quite a while since someone’s taken such an interest in my work...”

“How could I not! Ya say you got magics! Magics, man! Wish I had some of those. I’d get this damn pimple poppin’ scar off of my cheek, an’ make it so I never have to go upriver...”

“Pimple popping scar?” the Craftsman says curiously. “May I take a look?”

“Uhm, okay...” he replies, sitting back down. It’s then that Craftsman notices two wave-shaped marks on the apples of Oarsman’s cheeks the color of his spots. He peers over to the other side to see his other cheek, only to find perfectly identical markings there.

“You don’t mean these waves, do you? Are these makeup?”

“I dunno a damn thing about makeup,” the Oarsman says. “Those things just... showed up one day, accordin’ to my ma. They don’t itch ‘er anything, I just kinda ignore ‘em...”

“Would you mind if I touch them?”

“G-Go ahead?”

Now Oarsman is blushing too. It contrasts well against his little “markings.” The Craftsman touches one with his thumb, and his face quickly turns to shock.

“Frederick, you’re glowing!”

“You think I’m pretty? Aww, thanks,” Frederick replies, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No—I mean literally!”

“Huh?”

It’s hard for him to see, but there’s an indigo light shining on the Craftsman’s thumb. The Oarsman’s eyes widen.

“Whoa...”

“Do you mind if I jot this down? It might be something magical!”

“If ya think it’s important...”

The Craftsman removes his hand from the Oarsman’s face, which quickly returns to its normal, non-glowing state, and eagerly writes his new finding down.

“I’ve never seen something quite like this!”

“Maybe we’re both just seein’ things. I don’t think I’m a magician like you, Theo.”

“Still. It’s something worth remembering in my book. Say, uh, maybe we could exchange contact information? If you ever wanted to talk about this more.”

“Or if you just wanna be friends?” the Oarsman asks, giving him a smirk. “You don’t gotta have some research-y purpose to talk to me, man.”

“That’s fair. I get carried away a lot, Sorry...”

“Don’t be,” the Oarsman says, pulling out his phone. “Anyway, here’s my number. Sometimes the mountain affects the signal so I don’t get messages right away...”

Once again, the Craftsman tunes Oarsman out, the words becoming white noise to his ears.

He ends up not learning anything new about Vellumentals or Things that night.

* * *

It’s 11:04 A.M, meaning that the Craftsman’s woken up much later than usual. He holds his phone above him, parallel to his face, and checks Twitter.

Apparently his close circle is buzzing about one of his old friends, Professor Toad, and his apparent affections for one “Captain T. Ode.” It reminds him of the Oarsman, and all the sudden he wants to be with him again.

He locks his phone and sighs. Would Frederick think he’s bothersome for texting? He decides to test this out by sending a text.

_Good morning, Frederick! Are you free today?_

The response is almost instantaneous.

_Should be after work!!! you want to hang out or something? we could go to my place its real close!_

_That’d be great. When does your shift end?_

_6:30_

_I’ll be there at seven. Does that work?_

_Sure does!!! See ya :-)_

The Craftsman smirks to himself. It’s been a while since he’s planned an actual get-together with a friend.

And since it’s been so long, he ends up spending all day stressing over it. What to wear, what to talk about, what (if any) origami to bring...

Frederick probably hasn’t thought about this since I texted him, he thinks to himself.

He sighs and flops back into bed, waiting for the hours to pass.

* * *

He arrives at 6:02. “Good God,” he mutters under his breath, “I truly need to get out more.”

He looks to his phone once more. There are no new texts. He sighs, pockets it, and sits by the river, dipping a finger into it. It’s a little bit chilly out, and the water is cold, but he can manage.

After what feels like decades, it’s finally 6:29. He promptly gets up, going to the door with his phone in one hand. He’ll knock when it gets to 6:30.

Instead, the door opens for him.

“HWEH!” the Oarsman shouts in surprise. “Oh, Thee! Can I call ya that? It’s you! Uh, sorry, was gonna do a little yardwork, but I can do that later I s’ppose. Come on in, make yerself at home!”

“Haha, sorry,” Craftsman mutters, “I haven’t had anything to do all day.”

“Damn,” Oarsman huffs. “That oughta suck.”

The Craftsman takes off his dirty, worn shoes at the threshold of the entrance, while the Oarsman keeps his sandals on. He takes a look at the house. It’s fairly standard, but it has a homey feel. There are lots of strange knick-knacks and decorations. It seems that the Oarsman is going for a sort of vacation home theme, with a calendar on the fridge having a picture of a sandy beach, and a sort of “garland” of life preservers on some of the walls.

“How was your shift?”

“Good, good! The usual. No super wacky stories fer t’day. Can I getcha anything? Some refreshments?”

“A glass of water, perhaps?”

“Sure thing.”

The Oarsman actually ends up giving him a plastic cup of water. There are remnants of some sort of graphic on it, but it has since faded thanks to years of being used, thrown in the dishwasher, and reused.

“Only ze finest from Chef Freddy,” the Oarsman says, in a mocking French accent.

On cue, the Craftsman’s stomach growls.

“Ahaha... I think I forgot to eat lunch again.”

“Ya fergot ta eat lunch?” the Oarsman asks incredulously. “Well, we can’t be havin’ any of that. Not on my watch, anyway. I ain’t that good of a cook, but lemme make you somethin’. You eat burgers?”

“I do.”

“Cool. Comin’ right up!”

The conversation fades as the Oarsman goes to make burgers on a portable plugin grill. He unceremoniously slaps two beef patties onto it, singing some nonsensical made up song as he does.

“You have a nice singing voice, Frederick.”

The singing stops.

“Aw, shucks... Ya think so?”

“I do.”

“Hehe... old habits die hard. Hey, you want any veggies on this?”

“I’m fine with anything. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“Y’know, yer a real ‘go with the flow,’ kinda guy. I like dat.”

The Oarsman goes to his fridge to get onions, tomatoes, and pickles. He puts onions and tomatoes on his own burger, and all three on the burger for Craftsman.

“Bone app the teeth!” the Oarsman announces with all too much confidence. The Craftsman giggles.

“Go with the flow, huh...” he mutters after a bite. “My last... partner was the opposite.”

“Yer last partner? Ya mean yer last girlfriend?”

 _Should I tell him?_ the Craftsman thinks for a moment, _Oh, what the heck. If I’m falling for this guy, I guess I’ll have to break it to him in one way or another._

“My last boyfriend. I think it was about... six years ago? No, five and... eight months, give or take.”

“Yer gay, Craftsy?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

The Oarsman does nothing for a second. Craftsman begins to pray inside his head.

“Well, good fer you, man!” Oarsman says, giving him another one of his characteristic back-slaps. “Whoever’s the guy that charms ya is a real lucky one, ‘cause yer gonna be such a good catch for ‘im!”

The Craftsman breathes a sigh of relief. Once again, the Oarsman is oblivious. In a way, it makes him all the more charming.

The two munch on (or, well, more like Craftsman munches while the Oarsman scarves down) their burgers together, exchanging meaningless chitchat and enjoying each others company.

* * *

“What do you think about love, Frederick?”

It’s 5:30 on a Wednesday, late in December. The sun is setting above the water. With no customers to tend to, the Oarsman sits with Craftsman on the docks.

“Well ain’t that a loaded question,” the Oarsman replies, kicking his feet over the edge. “Uh. I think I ain’t good at it.”

“What makes you say that?” the Craftsman says, turning his head to face him.

“I dunno... Jes’... I didn’t get ma first girlfriend ‘till I was 30. An’ it turns out she didn’t even love me—just wanted my money. I had another one three years later, but she said she was busy, so we took a break... An’ then she said that she was sorry, she just didn’t like me, I was too physical, an’ our love languages weren’t compatible er somethin’.”

The Craftsman frowns, looking our at the lapping waves. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Eh, don’t be. Not like it’s yer fault. My fear a gettin all intimates with people is ma own damn fault anyway.

The Craftsman’s face hardens, as if he’s seen something curious out in the water. In truth, he hasn’t seen anything, he’s just steeling himself for the outcome he believes that this conversation will soon have.

“Frederick... Can I tell you something?”

“You can lay anythin’ on me,” he says, and it’s almost like he knows. “Only person’s that’s gonna know are me an’ this river.”

“...Alright. I might say something very strange. And you might not like it. If you don’t, maybe we can laugh about it later.”

“Now you’ve got me all curious, Thee. Spit it out.”

The Oarsman is looking right at him, laying down on his back.

“Frederick... I think I’m in love with you.”

 _“WHAT?!?”_ he screams.

“...I’ll take that as a no, then,” Craftsman huffs. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“Nonono, wait,” Oarsman says, hands on the side of his face, reeling as he paces. “Ya... You love me.”

“I’m fairly certain.”

“Like romantics? More-than-friend stuffs?”

“Thats... That is what I was going for, yes.”

“Theofold... Thee...”

The nickname comes out choked. The Oarsman lets out some sort of high pitched mewl before taking off his hat and crying into it.

“Frederick?” Craftsman says, concerned. He places a hand on the Oarsman’s shoulder. For a second, the Oarsman tenses, likely wishing to retreat, but he forces himself to breath and accept the contact.

“Y-Yer not lyin’, right? If you are, you’ll pay for it!”

“I wouldn’t lie about something so serious, Frederick.”

The Oarsman turns around to facee him. His face is red, wet with tears.

“I jes’... I jes’... I’m just some guy. An’ ya never say ya love my muscles, or ya think I got a cool job, or...”

He sniffles.

“I... I never did anythin’ ta make ya fall in love with me. ‘Cuz yer a boy. So, if ya love me... That must mean ya love me fer me. An’ not some fake version I’ve made ta impress ya.”

“Oh, Eddy...” the Craftsman coos.

“Eddy?”

“Frederick. Sorry.”

“No. Call me Eddy again. I like it. It... It sounds special when you say it.”

“Alright. Come here, Eddy.”

Although he’s never been the touchiest guy himself, he wraps himself around the Oarsman. And the Oarsman melts into him. It’s clear he needs this hug, and Theofold is glad to be the one to be giving it.

“I-I’ve never been with a man,” the Oarsman says. “But. But I really like you. W-Will ya let me try..? Even if I can’t like you?”

“Of course. Though...”

“Though what?” Frederick says, taking his head off Theofold’s shoulder to look at him.

“Something tells me you already do.”

“Hah. Haha! Yer right! When did you get so bold?”

“You must’ve rubbed off on me.”

 _“Unnnnngh,”_ Frederick groans, “keep huggin’ me an’ shut up.”

Theofold gladly does so.

And as the stars blanket them, both can’t help but think that this is the start of something good.

**Author's Note:**

> Life is short. Pick random toads and start shipping them together.
> 
> If you're not from the RP server and you made it this far, then, uh, thanks. Didn't really expect anyone else to read this one. And if you are from the server, hoped you enjoyed the meal.


End file.
